


The Promise

by Hides_Samosas



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 80s Music, Allura's dad doesn't like Shiro, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Kind of Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe- Keith doesn't listen to emo music AHAH, Alternate Universe- Shiro does listen to emo music, Angst, Anxious Keith (Voltron), Betrayal, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), But the rest of us love Shiro, Christmas Music, Christmas Time, Coran is probably rich and famous, Dancing, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Flashbacks, Gay Keith (Voltron), M/M, Matt has a penpal LOL, Old music - Freeform, Pidge and Matt are crazy, Pidge and Matt will probably eventually rule the world, Pining Lance (Voltron), Road Trips, Santa Monica, Seattle, These tags are so extra, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, grumpy Keith, just kidding, minor Nyma (Voltron), music references, noncanon ships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-07 15:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16856842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hides_Samosas/pseuds/Hides_Samosas
Summary: 10 months ago, Keith broke off all of his contact with Lance. He doesn't want anything to do with him, he doesn't want to talk with him, hell, he doesn't want to even look at him.However, a series of unfortunate events including a broken car, pushy friends, and unresolved feelings lead to Keith being stuck with Lance for 14 days over Christmas break.OrShiro reached back into the car and pulled something out of his travel bag. Producing a set of car keys, he dropped them into Keith’s gloved hands. “The keys to the car I rented for you. For the drive down to Santa Monica. Since, you know, your usual ride is-” He broke off at Keith’s expression. “..Right… I, um, I hope everything goes well for you. Merry early Christmas!” He waved again, and the car pulled away, leaving tire tracks in the white snow.





	1. Avoidance

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and Happy Holidays!  
> This story will also be posted on my Wattpad: If-You-Were-Here  
> Enjoy <3

Keith was alone.

 

But that wasn’t shocking. That wasn’t why Keith was so scared. Keith was used to being alone. He was used to that empty feeling that manifested itself in the hollow of his stomach, he was used to the anxious thoughts that curdled his brain, and he was used to being left behind, by friends that had grown bored with his self-doubt and apprehensive nature.

Darkness swirled around him, and out of the gloom, out of all of his misery and fear, a bright light shone. Keith shrank back, his wide brown eyes glistening with trepidation. The bright light morphed and churned, shaping itself into something tangible.

A boy.

Keith’s heart leaped and pounded in his chest as he took in the sight before him.

The boy in the smoke tilted his head, and his thin lips quirked sideways in a small smile. Holding out his hand, he mouthed something to Keith, who shook his head.

“ _I can’t hear you,”_ he wanted to say, but he couldn’t; no sound exited his mouth. He rubbed his hand on his throat and screamed out, or at least tried to: _“Lance!”_

The boy, Lance, held out his arms to Keith, his expression contorted in pain. He mouthed something again, and Keith sprinted forward, his hands reached out to the other. As their fingers brushed, Lance burst into an explosion of color, and like wind before a storm, the last remnants of light along with the black smoke surrounding Keith surged past him into the never ending night.

~*~

“Aah!” Keith shot up in bed, his eyes wide and his chest heaving. The covers were strewn around him, pulled up from beneath the mattress and covered in wrinkles. Taking in several deep breaths, he pressed his hand to his chest and let out a soft sob. He squeezed his eyes shut and counted under his breath softly, “One, two, three…” After a silent minute, his heart rate decreased to a steady pace, and Keith let out a measured breath.

Turning his head toward the window, he took in the soft sunlight of early December that Seattle had to offer, before pushing the covers off of himself and trudging over to the bedroom door. Upon opening it, he promptly tripped over a large cardboard box. Scrambling to his feet, now fully awake, he jerked his head toward the small apartment’s main room and yelled: “SHIRO! WHY’S YOUR SHIT OUTSIDE MY ROOM?”

There was a short silence, before Shiro poked his head around the corner of the hallway. “Sorry. I’m in the middle of packing and I ran out of space in the living room.”

He had the decency to look slightly sheepish, and scratched at his head. He glanced back at Keith’s sputtering face and offered another “Sorry,” before disappearing into the next room. After another moment a grumbling Keith followed after the other.

Shiro, who had been in the middle of cooking breakfast, nodded his head to Keith and silently handed him an apple. Keith’s lips quirked up and he gave his friend a half smile. It was nearly ten in the morning, and Keith knew that Shiro, who got up at six every day no matter if it was a weekend or school break, had taken time out of his busy moving schedule to cook for him.

“Thanks, Shiro,” he murmured after swallowing a bite of the apple.

“Not a problem,” the other replied, turning back to the stove top. “The eggs will be ready in a few minutes.” He glanced back at Keith for a moment, spinning the spatula in his hands. “And then I really have to get back to work on the boxing- I have a whole other bookcase to pack up, and Allura’s dad will be here at 12:00pm sharp to pick me up.”

Keith choked on a bite of apple and thumped his fist against his chest. After a moment of Shiro staring at him, spatula hovering above the now overcooked eggs, Keith cleared his throat with a cough, his cheeks flushed.

“Her _dad?_ ” Keith exclaimed. “Her dad-that-hates-your-guts-her-dad?” The black haired boy stared with something in between incredulousness and astonishment. Shiro grimaced and nodded his head grudgingly. He frowned quickly, considering, and shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, I mean, he doesn’t _hate_ me, he’s just difficult to ah, get to know. Allura tells me he’s just a big softy, but…”

“Have you experienced his _cuddliness_ first-hand?!” Keith cut his friend off quickly, waving his apple in an arc.

“…No…” Shiro turned his wide, kicked-puppy eyes to Keith. “But I’m positive that I’ll be able to get him to like me!” He grabbed at Keith’s pajama top feebly. “Tell me I’ll get him to like me!”

Keith batted Shiro’s hand away from him. “Yeah. Whatever, cut it out. Why is he the one driving you to Vancouver, anyway? If he hates you so goddamn much?”

Shiro muttered something and poked at his burnt eggs.

“What?” Keith asked, leaning forward and scrunching his nose up at the mess in the frying pan.

“He’s got the biggest truck,” Shiro deadpanned.

Keith burst out laughing, turned on his heel and strolled out of the kitchen. He gave a wave over his shoulder. “Let me know if you need help packing,” he called.

Shiro responded with a sigh of dismay.

~*~

Allura’s father’s truck pulled up outside the two story town house at precisely 12:00pm, a frown etched onto his face. Keith helped Shiro carry out his many, many boxes, and in between snippets of conversation learned that Allura’s father’s name was Alfor.

“What type of a name is that?” Keith hissed under his breath to Shiro as they trudged back up the wooden staircase to their apartment for the last load of boxes.

“He’s Italian or something,” Shiro whispered back.

Keith bent down and scooped up the last cardboard box with a grunt. “Damn, Shiro, I’m gonna need a massage or something after this- why the hell do you have so many books?”

Shiro made a face. “At least it’s not edgy emo music.”

Keith pointed a finger at him in warning, nearly dropping the box of books in the process. “My Chemical Romance is a good band, Shiro, don’t test me on this.”

With an eye roll and a loud cough, Shiro mumbled: “Was a good band,” and darted for the door. Keith let out a loud shriek and pounded after him, stumbling over the laces of his combat boots.

“Shiro you asshole!!”

Shiro burst into uncharacteristic laughter and took the steps two at a time, racing ahead of a cursing Keith, who was using all of his will power to keep from hurling the stupid box over the railing and onto the snow-covered ground below.

Once Keith had finally made it down the stairs, Shiro was already climbing into the shotgun seat, striking up a conversation with Allura’s dad. Keith chewed at his lip and made his way around to the back of the car, settling the final box into the trunk. Slamming the back door, the black-haired boy made his way around to the front of the car one more time, leaning up against it.

Shiro rolled down the window and gave his friend a warm smile.

“I’ll only be a couple hours away, Keith. Allura and I will call and visit lots- you’ll be sick of us soon enough.”

“I already am,” Keith replied without missing a beat. He returned the smile after a moment and pulled away from the car, offering a courteous wave to Allura’s father, who nodded in return. The truck began to pull away from the curb, and an icy wind whipped past Keith, reminding him of his dream. He shuddered, and jumped when the truck slammed on its breaks with a sudden screech. Shiro stuck his hand out the window, waving Keith over.

“I forgot something! C’mere!”

Keith jogged over, a questioning look on his face. “Yeah?”

Shiro reached back into the car and pulled something out of his travel bag. Producing a set of car keys, he dropped them into Keith’s gloved hands. “The keys to the car I rented for you. For the drive down to Santa Monica. Since, you know, your usual ride is-” He broke off at Keith’s expression. “..Right… I, um, I hope everything goes well for you. Merry early Christmas!” He waved again, and the car pulled away, leaving tire tracks in the white snow.

Keith stood in the snow drift, his arms crossed to ward off the cold. “Bye.” He said after a moment, but the car had already driven down the road, leading his friend off to a new life.

~*~

Keith was pacing around the living room with a glare plastered onto his face, his hand grasping his phone tightly in his fist so he could yell into the bottom speaker with ease.

“Listen,” he began, his eyebrows furrowed. “I have, _currently_ , in my _possession_ , the keys to that car. What the hell do you mean I _can’t_ have it tomorrow morning?”

The lady on the other end of the phone, who in her own right probably just wanted to go home for holiday break and not deal with people yelling at her, let out a very long, very unconcerned, and very _tired_ sigh.

“Sir, please, the person who used the car before you returned it with some sizable dents and scratches. We’re doing a safety check on it now.” She paused again, muffling the phone to wish somebody a quick ‘happy holidays,’ before turning her attention back to an annoyed and quite frankly pissed off Keith.

“The car won’t be ready by 6:00am tomorrow morning. That’s impossible by any car dealership’s standards. It’s the holidays, after all; we’re all busy.”

Keith stopped his pacing and tossed a glance over towards Shiro’s empty room, before turning his attention back to the prissy lady on the other end of the phone. She continued on: “Now, if you like, you can come in and collect a refund on your car, but there’s nothing else I can do for you- all our other cars are booked, and you’re not the only person with somewhere to be.”

Keith’s grip around the phone tightened, and without thinking, he yelled back: “NO, BUT I AM THE ONLY PERSON TRYING TO COMMUNICATE WITH THE UTMOST WORST B*TCH IN ALL OF SEATTLE’S CUSTOMER CARE SERVICES!!”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and static crackled between them. Keith’s eyes widened, and he began to apologize quickly:

“Oh god, I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean-”

“Worst of luck to you.” The lady cut him off, and the phone line went dead.

Keith brought the phone down, staring at the ‘call ended’ sign blinking on his screen. With a yell, he brought his fist up and threw the phone at the wooden floor with a sickening crack.

He stared at the broken device for a moment, before letting out a soft, “Oh,” and stooping down to retrieve it. Brushing his thumb against the hairline fractures on the glass, he chewed on his lip with frustration.

He really, _really_ needed a car.

~*~

“Hunk, I need to call in a favor”

Keith’s voice crackled over the bad reception, shuddering out of Hunk’s iPhone 5 like a grainy 70s sitcom.

Hunk leaned back on his blanket-covered couch, eyes focused on his apartment’s small TV. Gordon Ramsey’s UK version of Kitchen Nightmares was playing, and a bag of potato chips lay beside him, along with two precariously balanced mugs of hot chocolate.

Another boy, tall and sun-kissed despite it being December 16th, lounged on a rocking chair beside the couch, his feet kicked up onto the coffee table, and a half empty Capri Sun in his hand.

“Who is it?” He asked lazily, his eyes fluttering from the screen to look at Hunk questioningly.

Hunk glanced over at the other boy and mouthed ‘ _Keith_ ,’ before going back to his phone call.

Something flashed in the other boy’s eyes. “It’s Keith?! Lemme talk to him-” He bounded up from his seat and reached wildly for the phone, flinging himself onto the couch like a cat.

“Lance, no! What the hell??” Hunk whisper-shouted, holding the phone an arm’s length away from the other, trying to shove Lance away.

“He never answers my calls or texts!” Lance whined. “Do a man a favor!”

Hunk pulled the phone back and gave Lance a pointed look. “Keith give me a sec,” he replied quickly, before setting the phone on mute and tossing it onto the coffee table. Lance let out another whine and collapsed onto the couch pitifully.

“Hunkkkkkk, you’re supposed to be my best friend.” Lance’s muffled voice drifted above Gordon Ramsey’s bellowing on the TV. He sat up after a moment and chucked his Capri Sun at Hunk, who dodged it easily.

“He’ll... He’ll talk to you when he’s ready.” Hunk replied. “He sounds stressed now - something about a broken car Shiro rented.”

Lance, who hadn’t entirely processed the rest of Hunk’s mini lecture, continued to pout. “He hasn’t spoken to me in months- since March- MARCH! Hunk, what am I gonna- did you say broken car?” Lance cut himself off quickly, whipping his head around to stare into Hunk’s eyes with determination.

“Uh... Yeah?”

Lance did a mini dance in his seat, and got to his feet, continuing to waltz around the apartment. Hunk watched on with a confused look. “Dude-”

“Thanks man!” Lance cut him off, a smug look on his face, and bounced back onto the rocking chair.

“Right...” Hunk turned his attention back to his phone, raising his eyebrows as he unmuted Keith. “You needed a car, or something?” He asked hesitantly.

He heard a loud groan on the other end. “Some effing _dweeb_ wrecked the car I was supposed to rent! Now I need a way down to Santa Monica- can I borrow your car, please?” Keith’s stressed voice filled the room, and Hunk rubbed at his eyes tiredly.

“I’m sorry, Keith,” he replied. “But Shay and I are driving to Chicago the day after tomorrow- my parents live there and I kinda want them to meet her, considering we’ve been going out for two years.”

Keith let out a loud, frustrated groan. “Hunk! Congrats! Help me!”

Hunk pursed his lips in consideration. “Y’know, Lance is driving down there, too-”

“NO!” Keith’s voice cut his friend off sharply. “NO. And don’t you dare tell him about this. Absolutely not!”

The finality in his voice struck a deep tone in Hunk, full of pain for Lance. He glanced up at the blue-eyed boy, who was chewing at his fingernails, his eyes glued to the phone.

“Try Pidge, then..?” Hunk offered, wincing at Lance’s blank expression.

“Does she have a safe car?”

“She has a car.”

Keith yelled out a string of ferocious curses before hanging up. Hunk and Lance stared numbly at the phone.

“Well then,” Hunk broke the silence, stretching out to turn off his phone. “Do you wanna watch more Kitchen Nightmares before heading to the coffee shop?”

“Sure,” Lance replied, a vacant look plastered onto his face.

~*~


	2. The Performance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quest for some type of car continues... Desperation ensues.

Keith wrinkled his nose at the smell of strong coffee, Irish whisky, and cigarettes mixing together outside the small café. Adjusting the high collar of his trench coat so as to brush off the snow (a light cloud cover had brought in more snowfall just an hour earlier), Keith pulled open the glass door and a bell jingled, barely heard over the sound of someone yelling into a microphone accompanied by a guitarist of limited talent. While the establishment was technically a coffee house, it was still run by college students who hired the ‘musical gems’ of the Seattle area to draw in more customers. The coffee was good despite the bad taste in music. 

The black haired boy’s eyes watered at the fumes filling the café, and he clapped his hands over his ears at the sudden loudness of it all. Shoving through the crowd of partly-drunk college students (he couldn’t understand what the appeal of whiskey mixed with coffee was), he finally broke free into a sitting area comprising of two dark purple shag couches and a beanbag beside the stage, which was an elevated wooden section probably meant for something other than performing, and slumped down next to Hunk with a groan.

Hunk glanced up at the sudden movement, but his face relaxed into a smile as soon as he saw Keith. “Hey, Keith. Here for Pidge?”

“Yes.” Keith grunted, trying to plug his nose and cover his ears at the same time. “It reeks in here. Where the hell is she? I want to leave.”

Hunk gestured to the stage with a look of something like quiet amusement. “Actually...”

Keith quickly followed Hunk’s indication, looked back at Hunk, and then jerked his head back in the direction of the stage.

From behind the curtains, Pidge and Matt had poked their heads out and were making faces whilst waving. Upon seeing that they had captured Keith’s shocked (and extremely put off) attention, Pidge disappeared behind the curtains and reappeared a moment later, carrying a large binder filled with papers. She held it up and nodded sarcastically at Keith who just sort of shook his head in bewilderment.

After another beat, the rest of the café-goers seemed to realize that the next singer (?) had taken the stage.

The crowd began to cheer, and somewhere Keith heard a glass shatter. He flinched. Seriously, was this a coffee shop or a bar?!

“By the way,” Hunk yelled over the rambunctious and frankly obnoxious shouting. “Lance got caught up with something at the store across the street, but he’s gonna be here soon.”

“What?” Keith yelled back, his ears still covered with his hands.

They were cut off by Pidge tapping on the microphone. “Testing, one, two,” she called, and a sudden silence descended over the coffee shop. A few people snickered as Matt dragged out a giant set of bongo drums from behind the curtain, and somebody yelled “HURRY UP!”

Keith couldn’t agree more.

Pidge, after flipping them off, flicked open her binder and cleared her throat. “With me today, I have a poem about the joys of bees, to the tune of George Michael’s godly Christmas bop, Last Christmas, played on the bongos by my brother, Matt.”

The crowd erupted into boisterous laughter.

Pidge jabbed a finger at a group of people in the back, nearly obscured from where Keith sat. “I SWEAR TO GOD, JAMES, IF YOU DON’T SHUT UP, I’M GONNA JUMP OFF THIS STAGE AND FIGHT YOU MYSELF!”

The person who Keith assumed to be James booed loudly, and Pidge slammed her fist into her open palm, making a face, before snatching her binder up off the floor and beginning to sing in a warbled voice:

“According to all known laws of aviation,” Pidge recited, followed by Matt hitting his hands against the bongo drums twice.

“There is no way a bee should be able to fly.” Matt, with a broad smirk on his face, tapped the drums loudly again.

“Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground,” Pidge sucked in a deep, dramatic breath, and continued to chant over her brother’s drumming:

“The bee, of course, flies anywa-”

“Okay, that’s enough, get the hell out,” the owner’s voice cut through Pidge and Matt’s rendition. Pidge sniggered, and glanced over at Matt, who had taken an extremely low bow, and was now in the process of tugging his drums off the stage.

“Thank you!” Pidge’s voice and the feedback of the microphone mixed together to create something entirely unpleasant. “We’ll be here all night!”

“No you won’t,” the owner’s voice called out again from the back. “Get off the stage.”

Pidge hurried over to Matt after giving the entire room a wide wave, and helped him pick up the other end of his drums.

Keith put his head in his hands. “All this,” he said just loudly enough for Hunk to hear him. “For a half-broken death-trap of a car.”

Hunk patted Keith on the back. “And you don’t even know if you can borrow it,” he returned lightly.

Keith glanced up at Hunk with a sour look.

“Hey guys!” Pidge’s voice carried over the ear-splitting atmosphere. “Did you like it?”

Hunk gave a light clap and a sideways smile. “Very creative.”

Pidge beamed, and turned to face her brother. “I say we hit the poem reading shop two blocks over with Shrek, or maybe the math poem.”

Keith frowned. “The math poem?”

Pidge and Matt both gave him a devious grin. “I- uh- I regret asking,” Keith said, holding up his hands in defeat. “Anyway,” he continued, now that he had Pidge’s attention. “Can I borrow your car from tomorrow to New Year’s?”

Pidge made a face. “Uh, no? Matt and I are heading down to Panama City, Panama to visit his pen pal.”

Hunk and Keith both looked mildly alarmed.

“Have fun?” Keith said after a moment.

“That’s a long drive- are you gonna make it back in time for second semester?” Hunk asked.

Pidge and Matt exchanged a look and high fived. “If we don’t make it, we’ll just use credits we earned from our summer courses,” Matt shrugged.

Pidge’s smile faded when she saw Keith’s dejected look. “What’s up, though? Why do you need a car?”

Keith sank back as far as he could into the purple shag couch. Seriously- who even mass produced purple shag couches?

“Somebody wrecked the car I was supposed to rent, and it’s too late to rent another or get a plane ticket; everything’s booked.”

“Ouch,” Matt commented, hefting up his bongo drums. “Sorry, man. Maybe catch a ride with Lance? Isn’t he going in the same direction?”

Matt’s eyebrows furrowed at the looks he received from Pidge, Hunk, and Keith. “Oh. Right. Sorry.” He muttered.

Pidge’s gaze snapped away from Keith. “Speaking of which,” she said loudly, jerking her chin behind Keith.  
Keith stared at her densely for a moment, before springing up and darting for the back exit. The moment he had pushed himself into the first layer of the crowd, Lance emerged from behind another group of college kids, yelling something over his shoulder that sounded like: “I’m pretty sure that’s _highly_ illegal!”

He turned around to face Hunk, Pidge, and Matt with a smile on his face, his nose still pink from the cold weather outside. He was wrapped up in a light blue scarf and a navy blue jacket, holding a cup of hot chocolate. He tilted his head in concern as he took in his friend’s expressions. “Um, who died? I give up.” He said after a beat.

“Keith, just about,” Hunk deadpanned.

Lance flinched and dropped down on the couch beside Hunk. “ _Damn it,_ I just missed him?!”

Pidge leaned forward and patted his shoulder. “Don’t feel bad about it,” she hummed. “You’ve been _‘just missing’_ him for like ten months.”

Lance gave her a look that could curdle milk, and she let her hand drop.

In an attempt to change the subject as quickly as possible, Hunk said in a voice that was slightly too loud and forced for the situation: “Hey! Lance! You just missed Pidge and Matt’s _bee-_ witching performance! The script of The Bee Movie read in time to Last Christmas played on bongo drums!”

Lance’s lips twitched upwards at that, but his smile quickly fell. “Sounds funny,” he said blandly.

Hunk patted Lance on the shoulder and let out a sigh, checking the clock on his phone. “Sorry, buddy, I gotta get going- I need to start packing and going over my backup plan.”

“Your backup plan?” Matt echoed, raising his eyebrows.

Hunk looked mildly offended. “Of course! Backup plan- like how to make everything in my apartment look like someone’s home so nobody breaks in while I’m gone for two weeks.”

“Scream it a little louder, I don’t think the people in the back heard you.” Pidge retorted, her concentration focused on one of her three movie binders.

Hunk pulled himself to his feet and stretched, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Nice to see you, too, Pidge. Have fun in Panama.” He cast a wave over his shoulder and shuffled off towards the back door.

Lance, who had been playing on his phone, glanced up. “So Keith doesn’t have a ride?”

Matt shook his head, leaning forward and stealing a sip of Lance’s hot chocolate. “No. Poor Keith. If only he had some Cuban prince to come to his rescue. Oh wait-” Matt’s eyes locked with Lance’s. “He does. Ta-ta,” he pulled away into the smoke, Pidge leaning forward to help him with the bongo drums, leaving Lance alone with his thoughts in the midst of the bad heavy metal music radiating from the speakers in front of him.

~*~

**Lance’o’lot, 20:00: I heard from Pidge that u don’t have a ride back home. I know you’re still pissed, but I’m offering 2 drive u.**

 

**Lance’o’lot, 20:47: Keith**

 

**Keith’s_Mullet, 21:03: Dammit ok ok I’ll be ready at 5:00.**

 

**Lance’o’lot, 21:04: See u**

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, hits, and kudos! <3


	3. When in Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two dorks in a car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less than a week until Season 8 and I'm-

Keith was lulled from sleep by the sound of his phone buzzing insistently. With a wide yawn, he jerked his hand out from underneath the warm covers of his bedspread, feeling for his phone on the wooden nightstand beside the bed. Grabbing it, he turned it on quickly and winced at the sudden brightness from the screen. A text message shone back at him:

 

**Lance’o’lot, 5:58: Running L8 bc McDonald’s drive thru is backed up. B there in 20.**

 

Keith stared blankly at the screen for a beat, and with the sluggishness that came with still being half-asleep, had to reread the message several times, trying to make sense of it.

 _What does he mean he’s running late? It’s only-_ Keith’s eyes strayed up to the time on his phone. He stared at it for a moment, before throwing himself out of the bed and letting his phone drop onto the wrinkled sheets behind him.

“Ohhh Shittttt,” he groaned, practically running out of his bedroom and down the hallway, trying to remember where he had packed away his suitcase the last time he had gone to visit his parents. Shiro better have not stolen it.

Finally locating it in the back of a cluttered storage closet at the end of the hallway, he yanked it out with a loud grunt. Wheeling it back to his room, he dropped it with a heavy thud and threw open his closet door, tossing jackets, shirts, and pants into the carrier. He should’ve taken a cue from Hunk and packed two days ago.

Keith glanced over at the alarm clock on his nightstand, and his eyes bulged upon seeing that it was already 6:07am. He leaped over his suitcase and grabbed three random books from his bookshelf, along with his laptop, and dropped them on top of his packed clothing. Giving one last wild look around his bedroom and a firm nod, he wheeled the suitcase out of his room, down the hallway, and into the living room.

“And now, breakfast,” Keith murmured under his breath, changing his course to the kitchen. He paused, glancing down at himself. _Of course_ he was still in his pajamas.

The black haired boy turned on his heel and darted off down the hallway towards the bathroom to take a quick shower, cursing vividly.

Five minutes later, frantically drying off his hair with a beach towel he had found in the back of the linen closet, Keith burst back into the living room wearing an oversized Washington State University hoodie and tight black jeans. He glanced up at the clock, and upon seeing that it was already 6:15, decided breakfast was not important. Instead, he grabbed a mini carton of strawberry milk from the fridge the Shiro had bought for some odd reason, and downed the whole thing, making a face as he threw out the empty carton. 

The time on the clock, 6:19am, glared back at him. Keith sucked in a hollow, nervous breath and eyed the front door. As if on cue, a loud knock sounded. The black haired boy, despite himself, jumped, and hefted out another dejected sigh.

He took several steps toward the door, and paused, considering for a frenzied moment just how mad his mother would be if he canceled. _Very mad,_ he thought, and with a twitch of his eyebrows, he opened the door.

~*~

As soon as the light from inside shone out onto the small rickety porch, the first thing that struck him was how different Lance looked; like somebody had taken him and made a faulty copy. His hair was a little shorter, spikier, and maybe even lighter? He had finally gotten rid of that god-awful ratty blue sweater and replaced it with something a little more high-end, or at least high-end for a college student's meager salary. He looked healthier, too, considering the last time Keith had been this close to Lance was March, when they had been fighting nearly nonstop. Keith swallowed hard, but forced himself to look away and toward his luggage.

“Morning,” Lance chirped, bouncing on his heels.

Keith didn’t reply, and instead grabbed his backpack and suitcase, carefully moving out and onto the porch, trying not to accidentally brush shoulders or hands with Lance. His footsteps crunching against the light snow coating the wooden walkway was the only sound, and he locked his door without a word.

“Oh, right,” Lance looked sheepish and muttered something under his breath, his face flushed. “I got a new car.”

Again, Keith didn’t respond. He shifted his weight and stared at his shoes. His face was bright red and he knew it- he wasn’t going to lie to himself about his embarrassment, his confusion, his hatred squirming to melt away into forgiveness- _but no._ He couldn’t do that. Keith was knocked back into reality when Lance continued talking, leading the way down the icy stairs.

“This car’s a whole lot safer than the last one- it has working seatbelts. And airbags. You should find that it meets your standards,” Lance was saying. “It is also bright blue, and I’ve named her Missy the Second.”

Unable to contain himself, Keith scoffed, earning a surprised glance from Lance, who took the reaction as an incentive to continue his chatting.

“I’m taking classes to get a degree in Astrophysics. I dunno if anyone told you- the whole Biologist thing wasn’t really working out. Are you still working on the fancy engineering degree?” Lance was standing by the car now, pulling open the trunk. He cast his wide, pretty, bright cobalt eyes over to Keith.

Keith paused, loading his things into the trunk besides Lance’s many, many bags.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I’m still working on it.”

Lance whistled. “As talkative as ever.”

Keith grunted and slammed the trunk shut. The other boy twisted up his lips like he wanted to say something, but deflated, and moved to climb into the front seat.

“I’m driving first, cuz it’s obvious as _hell_ that you have not had coffee yet. I’m not interested in running off the road and into a flame-filled death right before Christmas- but don’t worry, you’ll get your chance to drive this baby-” Lance lovingly patted the dashboard as Keith climbed into the shotgun seat, a sickly pale color spreading across his face. “- it’s a 17 hour drive, after all!”

“Yeah,” Keith muttered, his eyelids narrowing as he simultaneously tried to fight the annoyance bubbling up inside of him whilst untangled his earbuds. “Yay.”

Lance craned his neck backwards as he guided the car out of the small townhouse’s driveway, the car’s wheels leaving tracks in the white snow. Keith stared up at the front window of his apartment, trying to remember if he’d turned off all the lights.

As soon as the car was on the road, speeding toward the interstate, Lance began to chat again: “I was thinking we could do Steak and Shake for lunch. Or Burger King. Or whatever you’re in the mood for. Maybe around 11:00am? Then we can switch, cuz I’ll have been driving for 5 hours, and then-”

“Stop.”

Keith’s voice cut through Lance’s blabbering like a knife through butter, effectively bringing the one-sided conversation to a halt.

“Just- just stop,” Keith said again, his rough voice quieter now, and he turned to stare out the window, watching the dark world around them as more snow began to swirl in gusts from the black sky, burying the Earth like Lance seemed to be trying to bury the past.

Lance cleared his throat, blinked his eyes quickly, and descended into silence, and for a few minutes the only noise was the revving of the motor as Lance guided the accelerating car onto the already-busy interstate. The Seattle skyline faded behind them, and Keith shoved in his earbuds, rubbing the fatigue out of his eyes. His eyebrows knit together and he let out a shaky albeit comforted breath at the first words of the all too familiar song:

_If you need a friend_

_Don’t look to a stranger_

_You know in the end,_

_I’ll always be there_

Suddenly the music seemed louder than it should, and Keith pulled out one of his earbuds with a confused glint in his eyes, staring at the cheap car radio. The same song was playing, reverberating from the speakers and off the sides of the car, and with a sickly feeling churning up in his gut, Keith realized that his phone had somehow connected to the car’s radio via Bluetooth, or some other damn technological feature that shouldn’t exist in such a trashy car.

_But when you’re in doubt_

_And when you’re in danger_

_Take a look all around,_

_and I’ll be there_

The surprise in Lance’s eyes had diminished as quickly as it appeared, and the brunette was bobbing his head along to the beat of the song, the quirk of a smile playing on his lips. His hands tapped against the steering wheel, and his left knee vibrated, and Keith knew had they not been in the car, driving at 75 miles per hour on a busy highway, Lance would have been dancing in a way that rivaled some pop legend like Shakira or-

Keith’s face burned at the image, and he fumbled with his phone to turn off the song, but Lance leaned over and touched his arm lightly, just a whisper of skin brushing skin.

“Don’t, please,” Lance breathed.

How the _hell_ could Keith do anything but drop his phone onto his lap, signaling defeat.

Lance sucked in a deep breath, readying himself for the chorus, and when it hit his singing filled the car. It was just as Keith had remembered it; slightly off pitch, but just as natural as it was beautiful, like a wind chime on a summer’s day, or a street performer singing not just for himself, but for any passerbyers that cared enough to listen. It was raspy and sweet all at the same time, and his voice tangled itself in the gears of the car, and in the mess that was Keith’s head.

_I’m sorry, but I’m just thinking of the right words to say_

_I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to be_

_But if you wait around a while,_

_I’ll make you fall for me_

_I promise, I promise you I will_

Keith tensed, keeping his gaze directed out the front window. He wanted to be deaf, in that moment, anything to stop all of the memories from rushing back at him, anything to keep all of these god damn unresolved feelings from piercing him like thousands of needles. He glowered down at his cheap phone, cursing it for doing everything in its power to mess with his heart, which was beating erratically in his chest like a drum.

Suddenly, he was back in the small family home where he spent a decade of his life in Santa Monica, bobbing his head to the song while lying sprawled on his bed, swinging his leg and staring up at the popcorn-textured paint on his ceiling. He could smell the sweet scent of chocolate chip cookies baking, hear the barking of Lance’s German Shepard across the street and the purring of his own cat on his chest, and feel the thick crochet knitting of the quilt beneath him.

He remembered how the only two expensive things in his room were his stereo and speakers, and how the music sounded like something alive, something _intelligent_ as it engulfed his room in bass and treble and beautiful, beautiful _words._

He remembered thinking to himself how one day he wanted a love like something out of a movie or a book. Not that he’d ever admit that.

Keith fell asleep with his head pressed up against the window, listening to the comforting lull of Lance’s singing, and for several minutes, he could almost believe that it was a year prior, back when he was _allowed_ to love Lance unconditionally, and Lance was _allowed_ to love him back.

...Almost...

_When your day is through_

_And so is your temper_

_You know what to do_

_I’m gonna always be there_

_Sometimes if I shout_

_It’s not what’s intended,_

_These words just come out,_

_With no gripe to bear…_

 

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing style is so inconsistent *Darts away*  
> The song is The Promise by When in Rome, what a G O D L Y bop  
> If there are any mistakes I'll fix them later; I'm kinda' sick rn. :-/  
> Have a good morning/evening/night!


	4. The First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A seven-year-old Keith moves to California with his family and is appalled to discover that two boys have been using his new house as a 'secret base' of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first flashback, in a set of three or four, to provide a bit more context :-)  
> We stan a Texan Keith   
> Also, I cannot for the life of me remember how advanced my conversationalist skills were when I was 7 \\(^^)/ so if they sound older or younger or something I'm so, so sorry..

_14 years earlier, El Paso, Texas_

 

7 year old Keith Kogane awoke to a flicker of light and the murmur of tired voices carrying from under his door. He yawned widely and pulled his spaceship-printed red blanket over his head, trying to drown out his mother and father. He lay still for a moment, his eyes squeezed shut, before letting a soft huff of annoyance and tossing his blanket back, swinging his feet over to meet the soft throw carpet beneath his bed.

Tip-toeing down the long hallway outside his room, which was illuminated only by the splotch of light coming from his parents’ slightly ajar door, Keith felt like the ninja he had seen on TV earlier.

His face stretched into a wide grin and he coiled his legs up, springing into the air like the ninja had, only to bounce into a wooden shelf with a loud thud, nearly knocking over a ceramic vase.

His parents’ voices broke off, and their door creaked open. His father’s face poked out into the hallway, and apprehension melted into humor as his eyes landed on Keith, sprawled on the floor in his alien onesie. His mother’s face appeared after another short pause, and she shook her head fondly, letting out a loving hum.

“Keith,” she said, padding into the hallway and scooping him up in her arms, “it’s too late for you to be up. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Keith pulled his face into a pout and squirmed. “But I wanna talk with you guys too! I’m not tired!”

His mother smiled at him with a tired glaze in her eyes, and glanced back at her husband. “Well, I have a bit more research to do, so maybe he could stay up a bit longer? With you?”

Keith’s dad let out a loud yawn, accompanied by a stretch. “Mhm, sure,” he replied, taking Keith from his wife’s arms with a short kiss.

Keith watched from over his father’s shoulder as his mother made her way back into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind her. Her shadow disappeared after another moment.

“So,” his father’s deep voice lulled Keith’s attention away from the open door. “What do you want to do?”

A wide grin spread across Keith’s face. “I wanna go to the truck!” He exclaimed gleefully.

His dad playfully groaned, ducking his head, but began to walk down the hallway to the back door. “You can never separate a boy from his car, now can you?” He chuckled.

Setting Keith on the floor so he could open the back door and the screen door, Keith’s father led the way out onto the back porch. Keith followed, always eager to see the world at night, and with wide eyes stared up at the sky.

“Woah,” he whispered, taking in the vastness of it all.

“It never gets old, looking at the sky,” his father whispered softly, more to himself then to Keith.

They stood like that for a moment, eyes glued to the stars, painting out the constellations and the satellites and the planets, before Keith’s father held out his hand and Keith took it, wrapping his fingers around it tightly.

They made their way down the rickety wooden steps of the porch, Keith’s dad muttering things like, “now watch your step,” and onto to the driveway where a 1983 bright blue Chevy pickup truck was parked at an angle.

Keith’s father unlocked the truck and helped his son inside the shotgun seat, before making his way around to the other side and climbing in. He flicked off the lights, so the sky was visible, and started rooting through his CDs.

“What do you want to listen to? What’s a song you like?”

“Umm,” Keith screwed up his face, trying to remember. “It was like, uh, there was a girl in a red dress and somebody had dirty thoughts. It went like ‘too ra loo ra too ra loo rye aye,’” the 7 year old paused when his dad began to laugh, and not getting why the situation was at all humorous, crossed his arms and slouched. “What’s so funny?” He demanded, causing his father to laugh even harder.

“N-nothing,” his father chuckled, wiping at his eyes. “N-now, let me find that CD.”

After a few moments of fumbling about, he finally managed to insert the CD and click play.

Keith gleefully bounced his head along to the beat, his father whistling along beside him.

Neither of them knew all the words, and his father’s voice was scratchy from rum and cigarettes, and Keith’s own voice was too high and young for the song, but with the music vibrating from the car’s speakers and the cosmos circling in vibrant colors above them, the scene was something hard to forget.

Song after song, great hit after great hit, minutes shifted into an hour, and before Keith knew it, his mother was tapping lightly on the window, her lilac eyes soft at the domestic scene before her.

His father lowered the window, and Keith’s mother gave him a sultry look. “He’s going to go deaf if you keep blaring your music like that,” she quipped, but her reprimanding was betrayed by a slight smile quirking on her lips.

Keith’s father heaved a playful sigh, and clicked a button on the radio. A song Keith knew by heart from the first notes.

“Krolia, I can’t hear you over your _favorite song,_ ” Keith’s father called over the radio. He cleared his throat and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to match the high voice of Berlin’s lead singer: “ _TaKE mY bReAtH aWAy!”_

Keith’s mother buried her scarlet face in her hands and let out an embarrassed groan, but succumbed to her husband’s teasing and pulled open the back door of the truck, sliding into the back seat to join them. She kicked up her feet and clicked her tongue. “After this song,” she warned, “You’re going to bed, Keith.”

Keith let out a groan but didn’t argue. He would never admit it, but he was getting tired.

He barely even registered his mother scooping him up when the song ended, carrying him back to the comfort of his bed.

_~*~_

Over the course of the next week, his mother and father spent a lot of time on the computer, talking about jobs and roads, and some place called Santa Monica. Keith wasn’t particularly interested in ‘adult conversation,’ but even by a 7-year-old’s standards, the atmosphere seemed tense, and it left him curious.

“I dunno why they’re being so quiet,” Keith complained to his babysitter, a boy name Takashi, referred to as Shiro endearingly by his family.

The two boys were walking along a desert footpath on the outskirts of the suburban neighborhood they lived in, searching for lizards basking in the sun on stones. Keith had assumed that Shiro, being 7 years older than him, and _ten times more grown-up,_ would be of some help.

Shiro remained silent for a few minutes, his boots leaving footprints in the brown sand. He stopped walking and squinted up at the sky, which was a brilliant bright blue, completely clear, before turning his attention back to Keith.

“You know that since I’m older, my parents tell me a lot more than you,” he said after a moment.

Keith gave a loud huff and crossed his arms. “My teacher says that 7-year-olds are big kids,” he retorted firmly.

Shiro rolled his eyes and shook his head with a sideways grin. “Not compared to a 14-year-old. Anyway, I’m going to tell you a secret. But you can’t tell anyone, okay?”

Keith’s eyes widened, and he nodded solemnly.

“And I’m only telling you because you’re a whole lot more _mature_ than most 7-year-olds I’ve had to babysit,” Shiro continued, straightening up and staring out at the mountains in the distance. He looked at Keith out of the corner of his eyes, before letting out a heavy sigh. “My mother told me that your mom’s job is transferring to Santa Monica. Your parents probably didn’t want to tell you, because they didn’t want to worry you.”

Keith frowned, taking in this new information and dissecting it as best he could. “Where’s Santa Monica?” He asked after a moment.

“Uh,” Shiro frowned, turning in a full circle, narrowing his eyes in consideration. “That way,” he pointed off towards the mountains.

“Just behind the mountains?” Keith questioned, not entirely sure what the big fuss was about.

“No, more like 800 miles away. 816, actually, I looked it up.” Shiro looked proud of himself for a moment, before his face crumpled. He glanced over at Keith and let out a defeated sigh. “I’m going to miss you a lot- you’re like a little brother to me.”

Keith nodded, a numb look reflecting from his wide dark brown eyes. “Y-yeah,” he murmured.

He broke out of his stupor and stared up at Shiro. “Will you come visit me?” He demanded

Shiro nodded earnestly. “I’ll call you, too! When you get a phone…”

Keith, looking satisfied with that reassurance, smiled. “I’m happy, then, Shiro!”

Shiro patted him on the head. “Me too, Keith.”

~*~

 _One week later_ , _I-10, exiting El-Paso, Texas:_

 

Keith peered out the window of his dad’s truck, trying to get one last look at the skyline of El Paso, but the U-Haul haphazardly attached to the back of the car obscured the view.

“Do they have deserts in Santa Monica, Cal-i-forn-ia?” Keith asked, sounding out each syllable of the new state on his tongue.

“Not where we’re going to be living, buddy,” his mother replied, trying to unfold a massive roadmap in the front seat.

“Why not just use google maps?” Keith’s dad asked after a moment, one hand on the wheel and the other on his coffee-to-go.

Krolia shot him a sobering look, and went back to straightening out her road map. “Did we have google maps in the 80s? No, and we still made it to Bogota just fine, didn’t we?”

Keith, not knowing where Bogota was, went back to counting the little poles sticking out of the grass on the side of the road.

“Well, I guess so,” he heard his father relent. After a moment of silence, he piped up again. “They have beaches, Keith!”

Keith made a face. “Shiro says beaches are overrated. Whatever that means,” he muttered into the back of his seat.

His parents shared a look, before Keith’s mother reached back and patted him on the back. “Keith, don’t be so sad; you’ll be able to call Shiro lots! And you’ll make new friends, you’ll have new teachers,” she counted off on her fingers. “We’ll be living near Holly Wood! You know what Holly Wood is, right Keith?”

“Overrated?” Keith supplied, his eyes half lidded.

Keith’s father chuckled, only to be slapped by his wife on the arm.

“It’ll be good, don’t worry,” Krolia said again, more to herself than the other two in the car.

~*~

Two days later, after a nauseating amount of drive-thru fast food and one unearthly, disgusting and entirely suspicious hotel room, the Koganes pulled into the quiet middle-class neighborhood of Swaying Palms. Keith pressed his face against the window and squinted past the midafternoon sun, trying to read the address numbers off the mailboxes.

“Here we are,” his father breathed out a relieved sigh as he guided the truck into a small driveway.

Keith pushed open his door and swung his feet out of the car, landing on the driveway’s pavement awkwardly. Hours of nonstop driving had caused his legs to be filled with pins and needles. Grimacing, he stretched them out before standing up.

He surveyed the house, from the faded orange paint and the tiled roof, to the small front yard. “I don’t like it,” he announced after a moment.

Turning around to shoot a reproachful look at his parents, he was instead greeted with a cardboard box.

“Here, Keith,” his mother said. “Go find your room before you make up your mind.” She gave him a comforting pat on the head and a slight nudge against his back, sending him on his way up the stone path to the anticlimactic beige-painted front door.

Keith nudged it open, surprised to find it already ajar.

He poked his head in with watchful, reproachful eyes and scanned the house. It had a sizable kitchen and living room, connected by a bar. The floors were tile, not wooden, and two hallways branched off into separate ends of the house. A large glass door led to a cramped-looking backyard.

Keith made a face and stepped in, flicking on a light.

“EN GARD!” A voice came shrieking from the back of the house.

Keith jumped a foot in the air, nearly dropping his box. “Uh,” he exclaimed, his eyebrows creasing.

“NO! I FOUND YOU FIRST!” Another voice shouted, accompanied by pounding footsteps.

Keith planted his feet apart, trying his to best to look intimidating, when a young boy slightly taller than him came bolting around the corner of the first hallway, hefting a bright yellow nerf gun and an oversized plastic helmet of the same offensive color.

“AHA- oh-” the boy faltered as Keith leaped to the side to avoid being shot with the toy.

“ _Hey_.” Keith frowned. “This is my house. Who’re you?”

“Uh,” the boy stammered, scratching his head. “My name’s Hunk. I live a few streets over. Uh, we didn’t know that-” As Hunk continued rambling, Keith took a long moment to study him, running his eyes over his mustard yellow t-shirt, green cargo pants, and dirty sneakers. He had dark skin and even darker hair, with a rounded nose and wide, friendly looking eyes.

“-but I’ll go get Lance and we’ll leave, that’s cool, it’s your house,” Hunk finished, red in the face.

“How old are you?” Keith demanded, brushing past the other boy.

“Uh, I just turned 8. And you?” Hunk stuttered, rushing to follow Keith.

“7. How did you get in?” Keith turned a corner, eyeing the gaudy decorative borders lining the bottom and top of the wall.

“The attic.”

“The attic?” Keith glanced over at Hunk with confused eyes. “What are you, a mouse?”

“There’s a tree…”

Flustered, Keith turned into the first bedroom he could find. He stopped sharply and the boy named Hunk ran into him. On top of the plastic-covered bed, a scrawny tanned boy with a mess of light brown hair, bright blue eyes and a splatter of freckles stood, holding a blue nerf gun and wearing see-through blue plastic goggles.

“PREPARE TO MEET YOUR MATCH, ZARKON- AACK!” The boy fell backwards off the bed and disappeared for a moment with a loud thud, before crawling out around the side with wide eyes.

“Who the hell are you?” He stuttered.

Keith bristled. “Keith.”

“That’s a bad word, Lance,” Hunk reprimanded.

“Luis says it,” Lance retorted, scrambling to his feet. He grinned at Keith, holding out his hand. “Hi! I’m Lance! Do you live here now? I live across the street. I have a dog. And lots of brothers and sisters. My oldest brother has a girlfriend. Hunk and I are best friends, but you can be friends with us. I have an extra nerf gun for you, too.”

Keith blinked at the rapidness of the blue-eyed boy’s greeting.

“Uh, I have a foam sword,” Keith returned. “It’s red.” He didn’t know if that information was important or not, but he included it anyway.

“That’s awesome!” Lance exclaimed. He reached over and high-fived Hunk. “Now we have a knight!”

Keith let out a sigh, and tried to say that he preferred the term _ninja warrior,_ when he heard his mother exclaim: “What the hell,” from behind him.

Lance pointed excitedly. “See, Hunk? She says it, too.”

Keith glanced up at his mom. “Mom, this is Lance, and that’s Hunk.” He gestured in turn to each boy, both of whom looked up at Keith’s mother in awe. “They climbed a tree to get in here.”

“Hi Keith’s mom,” Hunk said bashfully with a small wave.

“Your mom is so tall and pretty!” Lance gaped. “Are you a superstar?”

Keith’s mother, recovering from her initial shock, shook her head. “Not anymore,” she said wistfully, a dreamy look in her eyes. After a moment, she gave her head a little shake and bent down so she was level with the two boys. “Where do your parents live, Lance and Hunk? Maybe I should call them, hm? Keith and I have a lot of work to do.”

“I can walk home,” Hunk said proudly, holding up his nerf gun. “I’ll be able to fend off the aliens.”

Without any explanation, he gave a salute and marched off down the hallway. After a moment, Keith heard his dad yelp in surprise followed by a: “Hi Keith’s dad!”

Keith’s mother shook her head and turned to look at Lance. Before she could say anything, Keith turned to Lance with wide eyes.

“You guys have _aliens_ here?!”

Lance aimed at the roof with his nerf gun. “Yuhuh! In the attic! Hunk and I found something suspicious- it was small and furry with a tail like a worm-”

“A _rat?_ ” Keith’s mother deadpanned.

“ _Nooo,”_ Lance drawled. “A space mouse!”

Keith stared at his mother with a confused look. She sighed again and turned to Lance.

“Maybe you should come back over tomorrow, Lance.”

Lance beamed. “Okay! I live across the street! Bye!” He grinned, waving with both hands and turned around, zipping off down the hallway with a whoop. Keith’s dad yelped in surprise again.

“Did we buy an _orphanage?_ KROLIA!”

Keith’s mother tilted her head back and yelled: “I’M IN HERE!”

Tilting her head back down to Keith, she gave him a pat. “If you find any more kids running around here, let me know, ‘kay buddy?”

Keith wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t like the blue one. He was loud.”

His mother laughed. “That’s tough. He lives 2 seconds away, after all, _yeesh._ First the house, now the neighbors- you’re not turning into a teenager on me, are you?”

Lidding his eyes and straightening his back, Keith replied: “No.”

There was a sound of footsteps, causing Keith and his mother both to turn around as his father stepped into the room. He knelt down with a tired groan and placed his hands on Krolia’s shoulders.

“Krolia, darling. The apple of my eye. My love. The yee to my haw. Are there any more children, besides Keith, in this house that I spent $200,000 on?”

Krolia responded with a shake of her head and pressed a kiss on her husband’s lips.

“No. But there will be tomorrow.”

Keith scowled.

~*~

_The Next Day:_

“That’s it. Right there.”

Hunk, Lance, and Keith were standing in the side yard of Keith’s new house, decked out with plastic helmets, goggles, gloves, foam swords, and nerf guns of varying sizes and colors, staring up at the giant tree that Hunk was gesturing to.

It had a thin base and swayed in the wind, with its upper branches occasionally brushing up against the roof of Keith’s house.

“Right,” Keith said, eyeing the tree. “You guys climbed it?”

Lance and Hunk nodded proudly, apparently thrilled to have impressed their new friend.

“Yup! Once we almost made it to the roof, but old man Marlow yelled at us,” Lance blabbered, pointing his nerf gun at the house next door.

“You’re telling me that all I have to do to pass the test is make it into the attic?” Keith asked after a moment, completely ignoring Lance.

Lance’s face fell for a moment, his blue eyes dimming, but he perked up again after a beat. “Yup! And see if you can beat my time! The current record is 8 minutes- Hunk stole a stopwatch from his mom, but don’t tell anyone!”

Keith hefted his foam sword, considering the tree. “If I beat you, then I get to keep this helmet,” he announced after a moment.

Lance tilted his head and glanced over at Hunk, who grinned toothily. “I’ll get my crayons! Wait for me!” He called, darting in between the houses and under the fence, leaving Lance and Keith in awkward silence. Lance aimed his nerf gun at the house next door and shot, the foam bullet ricocheting off the clay wall and back onto Keith’s neighbor’s flowers.

“Oops,” Lance whispered, tip toeing into the mulch to retrieve the bullet. As he reached down to collect the bullet, a voice yelled: “I GOT THEM!” and Lance jumped straight up in the air, yelping.

Hunk had appeared from behind the fence, holding up a box of Crayola crayons and a composition notebook.

“ _Hunk!”_ Lance yelped, nearly crying and red in the face. “I thought you were Old man Marlow!”

“Nope! Just the yellow gunman!” Hunk called back, trudging through the grass towards the other two with a breathless laugh.

Just five minutes later, after detailing a map of trees around their neighborhood and records set by Lance and Hunk already, Keith stood by the tree in the side yard, waiting for Hunk to start the stolen stop watch.

“Threeeeee, twoooo, onego!” Hunk yelled, clicking a button. Lance whooped from the ground and aimed his nerf gun again, but didn’t shoot. Instead he dropped it, his mouth dropped wide open. Keith was climbing the tree like he climbed it hundreds, possibly thousands, of times before, splitting Lance’s record in half and clambering into the broken attic in less than four minutes.

“WHAAAT?” Lance cried out, red in the face. “TIME OUT! RE-DO, RE-DO!”

Keith poked his head out from the loose wooden plank and grinned down triumphantly. “Only if I can keep the helmet!”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a nice morning/evening/night! <3  
> The two songs mentioned are Come on Eileen by Dexy's Midnight Runners and Take My Breath Away by Berlin.  
> Krolia was a superstar in the 80s and had purple hair... Icon...

**Author's Note:**

> Any referenced movies, songs, television shows, or brands do not belong to me :-)  
> Ships may or may not be canon :-)  
> Have a nice morning/evening/night!


End file.
